


The Dirt Under Our Fingernails

by duointherain



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Get Together, Gritty, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-03-11 11:17:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13523115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duointherain/pseuds/duointherain
Summary: Duo's living a simple life, trying to stay out of trouble as much as he can, missing Heero.  Things are never simple.





	1. Chapter 1

The Dirt Under Our Nails  
by Max

Disclaimer: I don’t own Gundam Wing

Note: The tech level is on par with Not Quite Single, but this Duo doesn’t have as much money as that Duo did. 

 

The one-room apartment probably hadn’t looked truly clean since the first person had it, some hundred years beforehand. A fresh coat of paint and a new mini-fridge hadn’t done much to hide the age of the place. It wasn’t like Duo was doing heaps better himself. At 35, he looked easily ten years on from what he was. But like the apartment, everything was lean and efficient. 

He rolled out of his twin bed, soft black cotton pants hanging low on his waist. The curved line of his hip bone underlined lean abdominals, firm and tight. Three bullet scars on his back looked like Orion’s belt and had narrowly missed his spine. Burn scars swirled across his lower back like a storm that would never be over, not really. 

His braid was long, brushing over the blemishes as if it weren’t shit. A thread of silver ran from temple to tip, a little like penance that was prettier than having any real meaning. Standing there next to his bed, with a bottom sheet and a blanket, a pillow that wouldn’t have know a pillow case if the Pope themselves overnighted one, he scrubbed his face with both hands, being careful to keep the prosthetic little finger away from his eyes. That was proof that learning could happen. 

The world before his marble was disconnected, timeless. It was a world where anything could happen, but nothing bad was going to happen. It was a world that never lasted. 

Yawning, fingers rubbing his jaw, he padded three steps to the kitchen. His cup, clean and dry, with his rosary hanging out, the crucifix silver against the black textured paper. The cup had belonged to Heero once. They’d been at some shitty cafe, trying to talk and finding everything awkward as fuck. Duo was still sure there were things he wanted to say, but didn’t know how. 

Heero had walked away that day, leaving a younger Duo sitting alone at the table till he cried, even though much older Duo still didn’t know why. He paid the tab and he’d kept Heero’s stupid cup. He had it preserved and every morning it held his rosary and every night iit held his coffee. When he was out doing what he had to do, it did what it wanted, just like Heero, so it was almost as good as the real thing. 

He pressed his lips to the cross, and in a deep, serious voice, recited, “Credo in Deum Parente omnipotentem, Creatorem caeli et terrae, et in Iesum Christum, Non Aliud malorum puer noster pastor qui conceptus est de Spiritu Sancto, natus ex Maria Virgine, passus sub Pontio Pilato, crucifixus, mortuus, et sepultus, descendit ad infernos, tertia die resurrexit a mortuis ascendit ad caelos, sedet ad dexteram Dei Patris omnipotentis, inde venturus est iudicare vivos et mortuos.  
Credo in Spiritum Sanctum, sanctam Ecclesiam catholicam, sanctorum communionem, remissionem peccatorum, carnis resurrectionem, vitam aeternam.” He paused pressed his lips again to the bare silver cross, “Amen.”

At that point his coffee was done and he only managed a few Hail Mary’s before throwing himself into the shower. Eternal life. As lukewarm water misted at his face, as good a shower as he was a Christian, he thought he deserved exactly that. Not heaven, not hell, just this in between, this life of endless almost hunger. 

Anger bubbled up suddenly and only experience kept him from punching the concrete wall of his shower. It was probably good that Heero had moved on with whatever he found valuable because having him watch this endless slow death by the middle of nothing bullshit would have been deeply embarrassing. 

Maybe today was the day to throw that cup away, for real this time.

He left his place in a cheap rent-a-cop uniform, his rosary next to his chest and Heero’s cup safe on the counter, the only dish in the place, where it always was. 

The train made his place seem like sanctuary. There had been a time when the night shift train into city center on L2.prime had been mostly empty. Now it was only empty of space. 

He got on at the first stop though, so he had his seat. Which meant he had no excuse not to put on his marble. As it melted into his ear, warm and soothing, it seemed like just as much of a lie as almost everything else. It vibrated with inbound connection request as soon as it was stable. 

Duo sighed, and spend a couple buzzes watching the glittering lights of the growing city before answering “Maxwell. I’m on my way, if that’s what yer callin’ about.”

The voice was warm, almost overly cheerful, cultivated, and deceptively safe. “Duo! I’m so glad I reached you! I’ve been trying for DAYS. How are you, my dearest friend?”

Duo’s eyes swished shut, his nose wrinkling. “Fine, Q. I don’t need a job. I’m not touching the account you set up for me.” 

“Oh my goodness, I didn’t expect any of that to change. Let’s just start by saying hello and being old friends, like we are, shall we,” Quatre said, his voice sweet like if you don’t talk to me I’m going to buy the colony you live on and space your ass.

“Okay,” Duo said, sighing head resting against the window. “What’s up?”

“Trowa and I just had our 15th anniversary! I was so sad you couldn’t make the party!”

“It was ten days long and I don’t have that kind of vacation saved up,” Duo said, feeling like he’d said it before. 

“Well, I postponed it until you can come. It’s just not a celebration without you,” Quatre said. 

“Oh Q,” Duo said softly, “Don’t pull this bullshit. Things can’t be what they were. It’s just not how time works.”

“Well, be that as it may,” Quatre said and Duo imagined him as a little blond snake, slowly circling a little wild brown mouse, “I have something far more important to talk to you about.”

“So what’s that,” Duo said, but is attention was on the teenage girl whose hand held by Old Lady Combs’ purse for a moment too long. So he really didn’t hear what Quatre was saying, though it sounded all formally and bothersome. “Hey, give me a second. I gotta deal with something.”

“This is important,” Quatre nearly shouted, but after that everything he was saying went down to a groaning string of mumbles for Duo. 

With reluctance, Duo got out of his seat. He glared at the people right next to him. “I’m coming back. Don’t take my seat.”

They looked at him like they were looking through him, ignoring his rude, and completely unrealistic expectation. 

While the colony was growing, that didn’t mean that Duo didn’t know most of the people lived at this end of it. They were his people, in some way, and what happened to them was his to take care of. They got by a couple of stops before the girl got to the doors between the cars and Duo’s hand landed on them, keeping them from opening, before she could escape. “Hey.”

“Hey, Maxwell,” she said, looking up at him and if dirty looks were bombs, he’d be radioactive. “I ain’t picking pockets.”

“Uh,” Duo said, eyes rolling before narrowing. “Lemme see yer hand.”

She shoved her hands down deeper into her coat pocket. ”I don’t have to. You ain’t law.”

In his ear, Quatre was agreeing with the girl. “Don’t you have actual law enforcement in that poorly structured social experiment,” he snarled.

“Is this guy bothering you,” a larger man in a suit asked, standing up from his seat, which was filled so fast they brushed against him as they sat down. 

“Who da fuck’er you,” Duo snapped. 

“Oh god, Duo, please don’t get killed on the train. I really need you,” Quatre begged. 

“I’m not the guy bothering a school girl on the train,” the guy said pressing his fist against his palm.

“Uh,” Duo said, “Syliva, you wanna tell the nice hero man why I’m bothering you, or should I?”

“How the hell should I know why you’re bothering me,” she lied. “I hope he kicks your ass.”

“Stop your bullshit,” a middle aged woman in the elevated seats in the middle shouted. “Leave him alone. That’s Duo Maxwell. Syliva is a known thief.”

“Funny,” the big guy said. “You don’t look like a cop to me.” 

“No? I’m the fucking undertaker, bitch,” Duo snarled as the train went into a tunnel. 

Once the tunnel had been as secure as the rest of the line, which wasn’t very, but better than nothing. Those security measures needed maintenance. 

As soon as the lights went to the bare minimum, the guy swung. Duo dodged, both hands grabbing the guys arm, pulling, giving more momentum that carried the man’s punch right into the metal glass of the window. He followed with an elbow to the guy’s chin, driving his head back. Then he stepped on his foot and gave him a really solid punch to the face. Blood sprayed everywhere. The man fell backwards into the regular riders who were already pissed and now dotted with his blood. 

Duo’s second punch, much lighter, barely a hard tap hit Syliva’s back, over a rib he knew was bruised. “Don’t. Fucking. Steal. From. Us! You wanna steal, do it up town. Don’t do it here. If I see or here you doing it again, I’ll make sure you don’t live in sector 9 anymore. Do you understand me completely clearly this time?”

“Yeah! Yeah! I’m sorry! Fuck!” she hissed as she gestured to the altered marble set in her palm, as she sent the stolen funds back. “I’m sorry.” 

Duo turned back to the man. “Stop!” Someone was just about to give him a stomp to the head. “Don’t kill him.” 

Duo reached for the man’s hand, grabbed him by the wrist and jerked him to his feet. He was going to need a new shirt before work. 

The guy ran a hand over his forehead, like he was trying to hold in the contents. 

“I’m on the 6:45 train every day. You don’t be on my train.” 

“Are you done,” Quatre ground out.

“Yeah, man, I’m done. What can I do for you? You need someone’s ass kicked or some useless fucking boxes watched, I’m your man.” 

“I have just bribed Heero out of prison, Duo.”

“Oh.” Duo’s face went pale. “Is... is he okay?”

“I am sponsoring a new colony and I need you to lead it, so he’ll have a safe place to be. I need a strong leader to take control on the ground. Do you think you might be able to help me out with that? Perhaps you and a few hundred of your train mob? Heero is dangerous. I can’t leave him in anyone’s care except yours. IF you’re too busy watching useless boxes, I’ll understand.”

“Ah, I, Ah, yeah, I can do it,” Duo said, though he didn’t fucking know how. He didn’t know how to lead a colony, but he’d take over Hell for Heero, if he had to. “What do you need me to do?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quatre moves to make sure that Duo must accept his offer, which makes wild amounts of crazy in Duo's life, and it's more fun than he thought it would be.

The Dirt Under Our Fingernails 2/

By Max

Disclaimer: I don’t own Gundam Wing

 

“You want the normal cigar,” Ralph asked as he put Duo’s food in a bag. 

Duo shook his head as he scratched behind his ear. “Naw. Payday is Friday. I’ll get it then.”

“You’re a good customer,” Ralph said, “I’ll give you one, for your birthday.”

“It’s not my birthday,” Duo said as he shoved the small container of milk, instant coffee, and chocolate rice puffs into his backpack. 

“It’s never your birthday,” Ralph said. “Just take the thing. You know you want it.”

Duo kind of growled at the back of his throat, eyes staring at the door for a moment, a bit of color in his cheeks. “Thanks man, I’ll make it up to you.”

“You fixed my register last week. This is me making it up to you.”

“Okayfine,” Duo said as he peeled the wrapper off. “Oooo this is a nice one. Thanks, man!” 

“Besides some salesfolk was in here and made me take some as a sample. Who does that? Give someone like $500 in sample cigars? Nobody smokes that shit, except you.” 

“Mah lucky day,” Duo said actually feeling better with the unlit cigar between his teeth. “On Friday, I’ll buy the rest, at a discount, cuz you didn’t gotta pay for them.”

“Deal,” Ralph said. “Have a good night, Duo.”

Stepping out of the little store, his eyes suddenly felt dry and he rubbed his face again, sighing like the purified air on L2.Rincore was a hot desert wind. It wasn’t. There was no wind, no rain, certainly no cursed fucking snow. When he’d been on Earth he’d hated them all, broken enviro systems that no one seemed to have any clue that they ought to be fixed. Now there were days when he imagined the wind, like somehow the planet had been talking to him or caressing him, been his mother some stupid how when clearly wind was only meant to fuck with your launch trajectories. 

As if the day hadn’t been special enough, his bus came a minute to early and he got there just in time to see the doors close. If it had been an AI driven bus, with him that close, it would have let him in. Humans though, they are fucking dice. He smacked the side of it as it pulled away and then rubbed his mouth, twisting up words he didn’t think he had the energy to say. 

Pack on one shoulder, he sank down to the bench. He was going to be late. If he was late again, the union would okay firing him. 

Homeless was about as fun as a toothache. 

His account wasn’t over drawn though. He could summon a cab and just deal with the extra fee out of his check. There’d be time to eat breakfast that way. 

So he touched his marble. A screen projected at just the right height for him to touch him, which he did. It warned him that dishonored payments would carry a $25 charge. He acknowledged it. 

The feeling of being a half worthless bum had faded back when he walked into work. The company had been pretty magnificent sometime ago, like before someone untinned him from whatever exogenesis pod he’d come from. Now it was just a huge warren of warehouses and docking bays that facilitated quasi or mostly legal shipping and containment. He’d worked a mech, moving and repairing shit until he’d gotten burned by a faulty mechanical repair. Now he he mostly just watched shit. 

It wasn’t who he thought he’d been on that last day he’d seen Heero. He couldn’t even remember who he’d wanted to be then. Medical school, draw comics, buy a house, drive a shelby... shit like that. He hadn’t even touched a Shelby. There was probably some kind of anti-loser security in a Shelby that would shock him straight out an airlock and probably not the nearest one either. Shelbys were for cool people. 

Which didn’t mean he couldn’t steal one. Not that his id would get him into a colony that had any shelbys. There was no way he was just going to ask Q for one. That would be like admitting he was never going to be more than what he could make himself. It was true though and he knew it. 

“Hey Kit,” Duo said as he walked into the break room. 

Kit couldn’t have been more than six, sitting on a box on a chair so he could with wadded up bits of paper made into little dolls and animals. 

“Hey, Uncle Duo,” He said, smiling with no front teeth. 

“Waiting fer dad?”

“Dad’s havin a ba day, so I come to work with Auntie Marie.” He said, his eyes on Duo’s bag of cereal as if he were about to turn into a tiny cereal hunting velociraptor.

“Hungry,” Duo asked, already pulling two bowls out as the boy nodded. 

“You like Chocorocks?” 

Kit nodded, lips tight, refusing to smile, cuz food wasn’t just a given. 

“Me too,” Duo said, pouring half his bag in each bowl. The milk in the cooler had his name on it and it was still half gone. So he put that on Kit’s cereal and stuck a spoon in it. “Someday, you gon wash mah car fer me, ‘kay?”

Kit nodded vigorously, pulling the bowl close, one arm around it protectively as he wolfed down the food. 

Duo poured his bottled coffee into the empty chocolate milk bottle, getting the last of it, then poured that on his own cereal. 

So there they were, Duo leaning against the counter, bowl in hand, eating his coffee and the kid happily licking at the last of his milk. 

Larry, the night supervisor walked in and about dropped his cup while staring at Duo.

Duo cocked his head, wrinkled his nose, and took another bite of his breakfast like he wasn’t going to pay no mind to Larry. 

It wasn’t like the office was polite, even in the least. Duo had worked in places on Earth that if you so much as said you wanted to nut someone there were whole departments that did nothing more than bitch people around. This wasn’t that kind of office. Larry had been the day shift supervisor until he’d was dating his folk from L2.Sicon and something had gone wrong. The whole shift had had to pitch into buy Larry at least one functioning testicle. Duo thought about that with a smirk and it always helped soften whatever bullshit Larry was going to spit at him. 

“What are you doing,” Larry hissed, eyes wide.

“Uh,” Duo said, holding up a spoonful, “Eattin Chocorocks and coffee. What are you doing?”

“That’s gross,” Larry said empathetically. “However, I mean why are you showing up for this shift?”

“I ain’t late,” Duo said, half a mouth full of cereal and coffee. “You can’t fire me. It’s against union rules.”

Larry slapped his face with both hands, took a slow breath. “No. You being here is against union rules. Duo.” Larry held out his hands, sort of beseeching Duo to have reason, as if that had ever worked before, “You bought the company today. Owners can’t work shifts! There will be fines!”

Duo pulled his cigar out, laid it under his nose and just blocked Larry out. If Q was this determined, there would be no wriggling out of shit. “Okay, Larry, calm your tits, uh? I didn’t know.” 

For just a moment, Larry looked like he was going to throw his cup across the room. “You didn’t know what you just happened to spend forty-five million dollars? What were you split screening some porn and some buy the company I work for scene and forgot which you were looking at? OHHH! You only meant to buy fuck’em in the ass for an hour, but you got half a fucking colony instead? Is that what you did Maxwell?”

Duo set his bowl in the sink, tucked his cigar behind his ear, remembered that he hadn’t put no pain killer on his swelling knuckles and with the straightest face he’d ever had said, “Yeah. Yeah, Larry, that’s exactly how it happened.”

“Oh my god,” Larry said, touching his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “It’s real, isn’t it? Did you steal the money?”

“Well, if I did, I’d be more dumb fuck than I am to tell you I did so, wouldn't I? Kit, you like pizza?”

At that point, the kid was sitting in the middle of the table, licking the bowl and staring at Duo. 

“I bet there is money in my account too,” Duo said, throwing up a screen, fingers motioning until his bank account came up. “Well, shit.”

There was enough money in his account the buy the company three more times, if he wanted. 

“I declare a holiday. Larry, order pizza, beer, enough for everyone. Check with everyone and see what they want. Get everyone else in here by 6am. We need a meeting.” Duo peeled out of his blue work shirt and tossed it at the recycle shoot. 

His tee-shirt was worn, a hole above his waist and a faded Ford Shelby logo on his chest. 

“That shirt is against the rules,” Larry stammered, protesting. “You can’t tell me what to do?”

“Apparently, I can,” Duo said, smiling sweetly, still unlit cigar hanging from his mouth. “Oh, and put up a memo on the rules board that we now allow tee-shirts of one’s choice. Oh and me and kit want our pizza right away. You can go get it for us. Delegate ordering food to someone else, to Abraham. And Larry. I don’t think you’re ever going to get to fire me. Sucks, I know.”

Larry’s nostrils flared, one eyebrow twitching, and looked like he had ants in his teeth. “What kinda pizza do you want, Maxwell?”

“Hawaiian okay with you,” he asked Kit. 

Kit just nodded, eyes full of Christmas like wonder. 

“Ice cream, soda, and stop by the WareMart and bring me as many toy cars as you can fit in a cart.” 

Kit raised his hand. 

Duo looked at him like he was listening. 

“Cun ah pwees have a princess dress?”

“And a princess dress for Kit, and whatever else seems like it would be a good idea. Hurry, hurry.”

The ants in his teeth carried him out. 

This was a great deal more fun than he had imagined it would be!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quatre tries to talk Dr. Saban out of a very bad choice... takes place three months before the first two chapters.

The Dirt Under Our Nails  
by Max

Disclaimer: I don’t own Gundam Wing

Note: I’m doing this story in GW and original. This chapter seems scary in my imagination. We’ll see what it’s like when it gets to be text. 

 

Three months before Quatre contacted Duo and pissed in Larry’s chocorocks....

 

If it was illegal, it was probably going on somewhere in the Second Lagrange Point, though there is the argument to be made that if there aren’t laws, it can’t well be illegal, can it? 

Quatre held his fork and knife with elegant grace, like a perfect line under words meant to be understood to be of importance. His hands paused, still every bit as elegant as blue eyes narrowed and he smirked every so slightly. “Dr. Saban, your premises are faulty. What I suggest is that you release Mr. Yuy into my custody immediately. While your research has some value, it is not ready for this stage and you have selected the wrong,” he paused, consciously sliced his bit of very rare and precious old fashioned slaughter house steak, chasing a bit of blood on his china plate before chewing it slowly, and finishing, “subject.”

The wrinkling of her nose had nothing to do with his food, but with an aversion to wealth, power so concentrated in one point. “My work is a threat to you.” 

“Um.” Quatre picked up a tea cup that had been used by Queen Victoria, sipped tea designed to be pleasing to his palate. “Nothing you could ever do will ever be a threat to me, Dr. Saban. However, threatening a dear friend of mine does get you my undivided attention. This attention might not work out in your best interest.”

“Oh my god,” she snapped. “You are so full of yourself! You think money makes you some great king, but it doesn’t. My work is going to make a hundred, a thousand of colonies available to people, self sustaining, beautiful, self replicating, and free! It’s even good for Heero. He’s frightened now and some of the process isn’t going to be pleasant for him, but once it is complete, he will be happier and better adjusted than he ever has been. You have no right to interfere!”

“He is an unwilling test subject,” Quatre said sweetly, cutting like diamond saw teeth. “Even if I didn’t love him as if he were my brother, I have every right to interfere. You, clearly, do not understand the power of the Zero system, even with your modifications. Wealth gives me resources, and you’re a fool if you think I haven’t used them to my advantage.”  
“I love your teacup,” she sneered. Her avatar flickered, then she smiled. “Besides - you can’t stop the procedure.”

“Did you receive my cease and desist,” Quatre asked slicing another bit of steak. “Preventers are standing by to arrest you, should you fail to comply.” 

“Okay,” she said, smiling. “I’m an old woman, Quatre Winner. My immortality isn’t like yours. Mine will be in my space stations. For a criminal, you depend too much on the law.”

Quatre’s face went slack, tears pricking at the edges of his being as he recalculated his odds of success in light of her words.

On the colony, her real self pushed the needle into Heero’s IV. It was old tech, rough and a little violent. Gundanium cuffs held Heero’s frantically struggling body in place. 

“Try to relax, Heero,” she said in her best motherly voice. “I know it’s frightening, but this is the solution to your problems. No more accidentally killing anyone. It will be better this way.

Intubated, the tube down his throat kept him from speaking, kept his airway clear. Blue eyes were wide, the whites showing as he struggled. Shaved head held firmly in place, he tried to scream as the bone saws near his head whirred to life. Able only to make micro movements, he tried with all his will to signal that he did not consent!

Saban rested her hand on his bare belly, tracing a finger along the line of his tight abdominals. “We are also going to adjust your sexual attractions. You’ll have so much more fun after the procedure Heero. It is for the best. You’re going to save humanity. 

 

Skin tore on his arms as he fought to free himself. The sedative only barely touched his consciousness. Violet eyes stared at him as he drifted into a dream state, the induced paralysis. An overwhelming sense of love and well-being suffused him. That was what he wanted! Duo. His smile, the lines of his moment, his laughter, the slight scent of cigar and explosives to him - he wanted and he wanted like he’d never wanted anything before. He wanted this with a rage and passion that roared through his being, completely undoing the patterns of programming from before the war and in tandem with the modifications the new doctor was lying in, he understood what he needed to do! 

He needed to kill his enemies. He let himself sink into the computer, to feel the edges of the station as if it were his own body, to take control of all the mechanization, the air locks, the nanites, space suits, anything with automation was now him. 

When her fingers brushed over his scalp, there was no more restraint, no more acceptance of an authority touching him. Blue eyes snapped open. 

“How do you feel? Is the anger gone,” she asked, as though she knew the answer. She could see on her screens that he was completely connected, forever more to the station. She couldn’t see that he had bled into the station, not it into him. 

His smile was predatory, hungry, full of all the rage a child can hold against those that abuse, against those that misuse power. 

After another moment, he licked his lips, instinctive and joyful in his new power. “It didn’t work.”

Her avatar in Quatre’s dining room reformed, now with blood running down her face, her scalp gone, eyes with bleeding tears “Help me! He’s killing us! He’s killing all of us.”

Quatre sighed, slicing the last bit of his steak, before holding it on his fork and shaking it at her in polite remonstration. “I told you.”


	4. A Lawyer and his Client

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trowa fills Duo in on what's going on, as much as he can.

Dirt Under our Fingernails 4

by Max

Disclaimer: I don’t own Gundam Wing

 

Duo sat at a desk, not a great desk, but something someone who thought they were making it in the world might have sat at, when they weren’t making it very far after all. He was still dressed in jeans and his non-dress-code-complying tee-shirt, now decorated with a small bit of pizza sauce. His artificial finger tapped the pen in some kind pointless morse code. 

Trowa sat on the other side of the desk in a chair covered in a thick black velvet looking blanket that he’d brought with him. His suit was less than a tux, more than a suit, and Duo suspected it was capable of murder on its own if Trowa asked it to. It looked very nice, elegant black with a muted green tie that was probably just waiting to be a murder weapon. His hair was trimmed neatly and he wore an emerald earring. 

“But why do I have to sign all these papers, Trowa. I thought you were my friend,” Duo whined, elbows on the table, big violet eyes giving Trowa the best sweet puppy look that he could manage. 

“Today,” Trowa said, fidgeting with his cuticle for one more moment before giving Duo a pained look. “I’m your lawyer. I don’t make the laws, Duo. I don’t even enforce them. I just tell my clients how not to get on the wrong side of them.”

Duo groaned, arms spreading out, cheek pressing down on the stack of papers. “I’m gonna die! I said I’d help Hee-kun out! I didn’t agree to owning half the damn colony! Do I seem like the responsible sort to you? I’m supposed to be on the wrong side of the law!” 

Trowa sighed, his green eyes giving Duo the big puppy dog look. “Yes, but I know how important protecting your people is to you was well. You want to make sure they are safe, even if something should happen to you, do you know?”

Sitting back up, Duo wrinkled his nose and stared at Trowa, as if that were going to make information fall out of him like candy from a pinata. The Great War of the Puppy Dog Eyes was something Trowa was always going to win. Damn sociopathic bastard. “Quatre hasn’t told me everything!”

“Just how special do you think you are? Quatre doesn’t tell anyone everything. In that stack is a nondisclosure agreement and a binding arbitration contract. After you sign, then he’ll tell you everything. I suggest you hurry. There is a time element to this mission.” 

Duo’s sigh was loud, dramatic, and useless. “Fine.” 

The paperwork went very quickly after that. Duo watched Trowa as subtly as he could as he signed through the stack of actual paper. The flashes of concern that slipped through Trowa’s almost perfect facade made Duo sign faster. 

“There! Done! Tell me what’s really going on?” 

Trowa uffed as he quickly checked all the signatures and set them away in his armored briefcase. “Heero was arrested on Earth, charged with vagrancy and disorderly conduct. He was ten transferred to a shadowing private prison system. I obtained a writ of habeas corpus, but they appealed.”

“What was he going to get for vagrancy and disorderly? Thirty days?”

“Then an order for medical equipment was fulfilled through one of Quatre’s subsidiaries, equipment that while legal, is often used for zero system research. Within hours, we had tracked Heero’s location a brand new colony in the Second Lagrange Point.”

Leaning back, arms across his chest, Duo nodded. “So they took him to a new colony and they wanted to test the zero system out. I hope Heero told to fuck off. Where is he now? And for that matter, where the hell is Q?”

Lines deepened between Trowa’s eyes. “You know he would do anything to help those he considers friends, right? I know you’ve been very reluctant to participate in wealth. He’s taken that personally, at times. You understand that right?” 

His age pulled him down and he felt like a spent rubber band. There just wasn’t the energy to argue. He had been a little bit of an asshole about the money, and he didn’t really understand, but at the base of everything, he did care about Quatre. “Yeah. I’m sorry. Is that why didn’t come himself?”

“No,” Trowa said, pulling a small rectangular device from his inner pocket. “Play the video.”

“So much drama, Trow, really. Jesus.” Duo took the player with a grab, sat back. “I’m your client. Go get me a fucking soda.” 

“Of course,” Trowa said, “I’ll bring you a bin to barf in too.” 

Duo gave him a look, air in his cheeks, chin tucked, just watching him walk away.

Trowa was just opening the bottle of soda to pour it into a glass when he heard the first response. 

“Oh fucking hell! Trowa, tell me this isn’t real? OH shit, oh shit! Oh no he didn’t!” 

Trowa smirked, poured the soda. There was a particular pleasure in inviting one’s friends to Hell. Duo was a bad ass, so it was reassuring to hear his stream of profanity. 

When he walked back into the room, Duo was standing on the desk, viewer held at arm distance, head tucked to his chin to his shoulder, muttering, “Ohgodohgodohdod.”

“It’s a little gruesome,” Trowa agreed. “You might want to fast forward. It takes him about three days to clear the station. Heero was very efficient.” 

Duo triggered it to fast forward to the timestamp tapped at the top of the viewer. “Is... Heero ... alive?”

“As near as I can tell, yes.” 

When Duo set it to play again, Quatre was just taking off the helmet of his space suit. The only light came from his helmet, but there was plenty of dark streaks on the walls. “Oh god no, baby that’s a bad idea! No, no, no!”

“Heero?” Quatre said, his voice so sweet and full of caring, “I can feel you watching me.”

The light blinked and in that time Heero was on him. The single light cast them both in dark shadows, made them pale to the colony’s camera feed. Dried blood flaked from Heero’s cheek as he rubbed his cheek to Quatre’s. “You shouldn’t have come.” 

And then they were gone. The empty hallway just stretched out hollow and vacant, with just Quatre’s helmet rolling on the floor, moving a spot light over the human debris that had been hiding in the darkeness. 

“Shit, shit, shit! Heero’s the fucking Red Queen, you know from like Resident Evil.” 

“I am familiar with the reference,” Trowa said. “It’s not inaccurate.” 

“I’m Catholic!” Duo swallowed hard, fidgeting with the viewer. “Suicide is against my religion.” 

‘Yes.”

“You expect me to go in there after them anyway, don’t you? You’re sure Q’s alive?”

“Yes, and yes. You’d go if I helped you get there or not.”

“Fuck. Yes,” Duo said sinking down to sit lotus style on the desk, before chugging the soda. “Let’s go.” He hopped down off the desk, braid flaring out as he spun. “Come on lawyer.. Why me and not you?”

“Heero asked for you.”

“Oh fucking hell. Ima die.”


	5. five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duo wakes up... he's got more problems than he thought he had.

Dirt Under Our Fingernails 5  
by Max

 

Disclaimer: I don’t own Gundam Wing, hints of Pokemon. I don’t own them either.

 

_I am afraid._

_I want to curl up in my shitty apartment and pull the covers over my head. God fuck me. What’s fucking wrong with me?_

_I can’t save Quatre. I can’t save Heero. I sure as shit can’t save a thousand half feral, somewhat skilled, querulous shit warehouse workers from a run down_ shit _colony._

 _I’m a_ thirty-something _, cuz I don’t actually_ fucking _know exactly how old I am,_ man _without all my own body parts, scarred up atheist clutching a fucking rosary because it feels good and I_  
 _honestly_  
 _don’t_  
 _actually_  
 _want_  
 _to_  
 _die._

The alarm went off anyway. Duo opened one eye, squinting at the display floating in the air, right at eyesight telling him it was 0600 with a helpful countdown for two hours.

Just exactly how much life could you shove in two hours, if ya tried real hard? Duo rolled onto his back, an arm over his eyes, blocking the light that the AI was slowly turning up for him.

“How many fuckers Ah got in the hold?” Duo asked, regretting now that he hadn’t drank enough to have a hangover now. At least a hangover would feel somehow more normal.

“I assume,” a sweetly feminine voice said, young and cutesy voice, but still somehow still know-it-all. Duo thought the damn thing had to have been seeded from Q’s intelligence scan. “You mean human immigrants to Camelot. As long as that assumption is correct, then there are 2538 passengers.”

Duo lifted his elbow, stared at the small yellow... chicken? Yellow squirrel, maybe? It paced an invisible floor, behind the clock. “Passengers? Ya hook’em all up with private suites and a shopping mall, sparrow-boy?”

“There is no common shopping area, but each room, private for each family unit, has a manufacturing unit that is supplying their needs.”

Duo sat up, legs swinging over the small bed. “Seriously? You got decent accommodation for like near 3000 folk in under 24 hours? I thought we were gonna put’em in the hold with bottle water and rations.”

The cute little yellow thing morphed smoothly into an slender and elegant yellow man with red dots on his checks. “That would be disgusting and, frankly, pretty horrifying. I’m very glad neither you nor Mr. Trowa are in charge.”

“Yeah,” Duo said, grimacing. “Who the hell’s in charge? You?”

Pikachu stared at Duo sideways, nose twitching for a moment, very human expression for a holographic AI interface. “Yes.” Both hands came up, fingers pointing at Duo at the same time, “Thank God. Both of you would have violated so many human rights, I couldn’t even count. You’re both savages.”

Standing, the thin sheet falling away from his naked body, Duo cocked his hips and mirrored the finger pointing. “You not wrong. So. I want a nice bottle of rum.”

“About that,” Pikachu said, “I have arranged an assistant for you. As your requests exceed my understanding of good judgment, I have engaged an assistant to validate your requests.”

“Really,” Duo said, not feeling real excited about this idea. “You a fucking pocket calculator. One of us is smarter than the other? You know what sentience is, uh?”

“I understand sentience, Mr. Duo. You are correct. One of us is smarter than the other.” Pikachu didn’t blink even a little as Duo glared at him.

Duo jabbed a finger in the air at him. “Ah don’t think you took that the way Ah meant it.”

Pikachu winked. Duo felt uncomfortable.  
“I am able to process extensive amounts of nuance, Mr. Duo.” Pikachu smiled, cat that got the canary.

“Great. I’m fucking fantastic with explosives.” Duo tried to wink back. It went badly.

“Was that a threat?”

“Maybe,” Duo said before he lost the required energy as pulling on his pants while sober required just too concentration. “Where’s my shit?”

“Your belongings are in your main suite room, Mr. Duo.” Pikachu smiled, a soft, tolerant customer service smile.

With a groan, Duo rubbed his face and grabbed his shirt. The last thing he remembered was leaving work with Trowa. If he squinted really hard, there was some fuzzy memories of drinking, a possible sexual encounter, or maybe it had been just porn because he did remember that Trowa was hung nice and normal, and there had been a woman, whose voice sounded like Relena, but she had short pink hair, and she punched hard, so porn, probably. He’d expected onboarding of new colonists and the trip to take eight days.

He also, quite distinctly, did not remember an AI that looked like a fucking child’s game. If he could have a sober spidey sense, it was tingling full on forest fire. “Where’ Trowa?”

“Mr. Trowa is sleeping,” Pikachu said firmly.

“Wake his ass up,” Duo said, forcing eye contact with the AI. That only lasted for a moment before Duo had to look away. It wasn’t like looking into a person’s eyes. The creature’s dark eyes seemed so normal, until you really stared, then it was like looking it was like looking into a Gallifreyan time vortex or some shit. “You put me to sleep.”

“Yes. Master Heero requested that I keep you safe. This seemed best.”

“Ah wanna talk to Heero.” Duo grabbed his boots and socks, ignored the bed making itself, and started feeling for the door switch, that would open what looked like a door to the next room.

“Just walk towards the door and it will open,” Pikachu said. “Master Heero is unable to talk with you right now. Your thoughts move too slowly and he currently suffers from a malignant algorithm.”

“Well, ain’t that the truth,” Duo said, staring at the door before walking right into it. “Shit! You said...!” He spun to find the yellow man trying not to laugh.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Duo, but it was funny.”

“Fuck YOU!” Duo yelled. Frustrated and feeling a little helpless, he spun to punch the damn door, not caring about broken fingers from punching metal walls in that moment. This lead to stumbling into the next room, catching himself, and shuffling a couple steps to regain his balance, all while being watched worriedly by a short, fat, mostly bald little man. The last couple steps were decidedly surreal for Duo, as he tried harder to walk like a sober adult, while not disappearing under the concerned gaze of his former supervisor. “Frank.”

“Duo,” Frank said, lifting the tray he carried a little. “I brought you breakfast. You need to eat a good breakfast today.”

Duo ran a hand over his head, rubbed the back of his neck. “Well. This. Is. Awkward.”

“No, no, I don’t mean it to be! I’m here to help you!”

Duo’s mouth went dry. “That’s not making it better, Frank.”

Pikachu stepped into the room, pointed his pointer fingers at Frank. “This is your supervisor. I’ve hired him to help you make good choices.”

“Oh fuckin’ hell,” Duo said, walking as fast as he could too the counter, which looked a lot like the kitchen counter in his old apartment, but there was his cup and his rosary, which he lifted, kissed, using the moment of religious observance as an escape from this real life for a moment. Bad habits aside, he had probably 40 IQ points on Frank and Yellow boy wasn’t even human. Trowa was AWOL. He was going to get everyone fucking killed. He took a deep breath, kissed his cross again and slipped it over his head. “Okay then! That coffee better be strong.”

“It’s vitamin fortified,” Frank said with a cheery smile.

 

“Great,” Duo said, grabbing it in one hand, his boots held in the other. “Let’s get this shit show on the road!”


End file.
